


To lie down on this earth, to dream upon its heart

by 35391291



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Gen, Magic, Tattoos, the king's letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 21:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9257318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/35391291/pseuds/35391291
Summary: There is an unspoken promise tied to these letters, as true and unchanging as the new ink in his skin. The world will always be there, with all its magic, waiting for him. And he would have this promise. He would give it as well.The Reader becomes the Book. Perhaps it is meant to be.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story had [the best proofreader ever](http://spirit-of-boris.tumblr.com) :)

_This book is ended and I put it down,_  
_this book is ended and I put it down,_  
_I'm saved, I'm saving for the future._  
_This book is ended and I put it down,_  
_find I'm befriended in a foreign town,_  
_I'm saved, I'm sailing for the future._

 _But only yesterday night_  
_I stood in the pouring rain, shouting at the thunder:_  
_I said "Lord, I'm starting to understand the hidden mystery."_  
_Lord, the compass falls in my hand,_  
_I can sail to the far horizon..._

 _Could you conceive a mirror_  
_where you could never see yourself?_

\- Peter Hammill: [This book](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xWJLM0ghuFU).

*

 _I would_  
_drink the dregs of daylight,_  
_break the bread of consciousness_  
_and dream:_  
_dream day for night,_  
_nightfall around us,_  
_waking, dreaming,_  
_awake to the dream._

\- Peter Hammill: [No moon in the water](http://azlyrics.biz/peter-hammill-no-moon-in-the-water-lyrics).

*

There is a little scar on the inside of Childermass's arm, a keepsake from the first time he had tried to become the Book. He remembers. The pain and the blood had made him feel faint, the world had gone black around him, and he had cursed his own weakness. But now, the idea gets into his head again, and it won't leave him alone. He tells himself that it is the next logical step, a practical arrangement. He has grown tired of searching over half of England for Vinculus, whenever he goes wandering. Having another copy of the Book makes perfect sense. And, if he is honest with himself, he feels that giving the other man some time away from their work is the right thing to do. Reading the letters is challenging enough, but he can only make a guess about how it feels to have them upon one's skin. Now, the time is right. He thinks that it will take more courage, but simply deciding to do it is enough. Perhaps it is meant to be.

When Vinculus first hears his plan, he is amused. "Being the reader isn't enough for you anymore, magician? You want to be the Book now? And here I thought I was doing a proper job of it", he says with mock hurt. But he doesn't mean it unkindly, it is simply his way. And he understands, which is why Childermass trusts him with the needle. His hands are surprisingly steady, and Childermass supposes it is only right, to have the Book copy itself on another canvas. There is a sort of poetry in it that neither of them fails to notice. Still, the needle hurts. But it is a good kind of pain. It makes Childermass feel warm and alive. The magic probably has something to do with it. It is more overwhelming than anything he has experienced before. A new book is being written, and the world seems to take a deep breath.

As the letters become printed upon his skin, one by one, the meaning fills his mind, and makes him weak. At first, he is angry. The words reveal a part of himself that he has kept hidden for a long time. He didn't know that being read would be this unsettling. At times, he feels that he won't be able to bear it any longer. He would have regretted the whole thing, if it didn't feel so predestined, so right. It is both glory and burden. There is blood and darkness, but also a sense of belonging. His heart lies, satiated and uncovered. The words know who he is. They embrace him, rough and unpolished. They hold up a mirror and make him look. He understands what they are saying, and he wants to answer. He knows that this is also how Vinculus feels about being the Book, and it is reassuring. Being without this magic again would be unthinkable, so they go on.

When they get to the point where Vinculus can no longer see the symbols he needs to copy, they ride to Starecross and ask Mr Segundus to help. Childermass expects him to try and dissuade them, but he agrees. He is surprisingly practical about it, as if he also understood the significance of what they are doing. With his help, they even manage to translate several letters. They can't be sure if moving them to another skin shifts their meaning again, or if they become instantly clear through the motion of drawing. In any case, their work progresses steadily. Months go by, almost unnoticed, in a fog of ink and needles. They don't exchange too many words. They have the King's letters, and they are enough. And they also have a sort of quiet understanding now, a tender kindness, like a shared flame. It is something that Childermass has rarely felt before, but he learns to accept it. These things are never a mistake. Perhaps it is also a part of the spell, or the answer to a question he still has not asked.

The day they are done with the last symbol seems like any other, but it isn't. It is cold, the sky is charged with the electricity of a forthcoming storm, and there is a flock of black birds circling the house. The world is sharp and still. Even Vinculus is quiet and almost solemn, as if he has grasped a full understanding of the words, after reading them from the outside. He says nothing, but when Childermass goes out of the house, he follows. So does Mr Segundus. They share a sort of closure, and a newfound curiosity as well. The book is finished, but there is still much to learn about it. Its mystery is now twice as elusive, twice as appealing. It tells a new story. Two, perhaps, but both lead towards the same end. There is a deeper purpose now.

Childermass catches a glimpse of black feathers, and then the moor around them grows silent. In the distance, he can see a curious sort of bridge, that he could have sworn was not there before. It seems to lead elsewhere. He feels the irresistible pull of magic, granting him both the key and the doorway, and he suddenly knows that he could cross over whenever he wished. Perhaps this is the reason for Vinculus's unexplained absences. He might go wandering too, now that he has the chance. The letters bind them together, and he understands. The world has changed, and yet it remains ancient and wise. Its meaning hides in every corner, told in the silent words of the birds and the trees. He might get closer to it, and perhaps find it one day. When he does, the words will lead him back, like a compass.

When the storm breaks, Childermass feels it is the only possible conclusion for this journey. The words are alive upon his skin and heart, and they seem to catch every drop of rain. They spell out their language, both hot and cold, like thunder. The world is fully awake now, and it is listening. The meaning is everywhere: in a drop of ink, in a whisper, in the overflowing cup he has forever longed for. Now, he is finally brave enough to drink from it, until he wants for nothing. It is not a dream. He can't explain it, and he knows that he doesn't have to. But if he had to try, he would say that it feels as if something broken had been put together again, and made brand new. He is not alone, he belongs. There is an unspoken promise tied to these letters, as true and unchanging as the new ink in his skin. The world will always be there, with all its magic, waiting for him. And he would have this promise. He would give it as well. He wants to lie down on this earth, to dream upon its heart, for the rest of his life. But there will be time for that later. For the moment, he turns and walks back to the house with his companions. The rain has answered, and the winter air feels sharp, deep inside his heart. There is a quiet light in his eyes.


End file.
